Camilla
Three Months Later
I walk through the halls of the hospital, my clipboard in hand. As usual, I have a full day ahead of me, and I’m already wondering how I’m going to find the time to get it all done. Of course, that’s nothing new in my life. My days are usually a blur – which can be a good thing when you need a distraction – and the work days fly by.
I stop in and see how Allee is doing.
It’s not easy for me to do this daily, but I do. I hate knowing the grim reality that she might not ever wake up. There’s no way to know for sure whether the brain is going to bounce back from an injury such as hers.
I don’t know if her fiancé realizes that she could come out of it and not be able to do anything for herself ever again. She could wake up and be paralyzed. She might be partially paralyzed. She might wake up and not be able to see or hear or even talk.
The brain is an incredible organ, but it’s also a mysterious one. Even though we can see that the swelling on her brain has gone down, and there’s been improvement with her injuries, we still have no idea how she’s going to be when she wakes up.
For all we know, she could wake up an entirely different person.
The possibilities are many and the odds get worse the longer she’s in a coma.
I look at my younger sister as she lies on the bed, hooked up to the monitors around her. I still don’t know what possessed her to become a Special Forces soldier. I mean, I’m super proud of her and in awe of her strength and courage, but it’s so high risk and shit can happen. Like what happened that night of the accident.
After our parents died, as the older one, I took it upon myself to step into a parenting role and take care of Allee. I wanted her to be okay. It had been devastating to both of us when we lost them and I felt a deep sense of responsibility for her.
There’s a part of me that’s almost angry with her for the condition she’s in now. She chose an incredibly dangerous profession that could very well get her killed, and thanks to that profession, she might now actually die. But, I know that’s not fair.
I sit on the side of the bed and brush her hair off her forehead. I have to give it to her fiancé. He’s definitely surprised me with how dedicated he’s been. It’s been three months since the attack, and he sat with her that entire first week. He’s dutifully come to check on her weekly since then and not just over the phone. He actually comes into the hospital to see how she’s doing with his own eyes. Along with that, he’s got a lot of questions about how she’s been during the week, as well as what to expect when she wakes up.
I appreciate his confidence that she’ll come out of it, but I’m frustrated with his naive outlook that she’ll be just fine. Maybe that makes me a Negative Nancy, but in my line of work, you have to take your days with a big helping of reality.
“I recommend you look into some support groups,” I told him during the last visit. “It’s been three months, Mac, and I think it’s reasonable for anyone to start to believe that there’s a chance she might not come back to us. I know it’s not easy to hear, but I also think it’s wise for you to start preparing yourself for that.”
“I’m not going to bury her when she’s not dead,” he replied with a shrug. “So it’s not going to do me much good to sit around commiserating with total strangers who probably view themselves as victims. It’s just not my style, but thanks anyway.”
“Well, there are also groups geared toward preparing people for the possibility that their loved one may wake up and not be the same.”
“Not be the same?” he demanded. “What do you mean by that?”
“Mac, you have to realize with what she’s been through, she could easily wake up and not be able to move her arms or legs, or both. She might not be able to take care of herself in any capacity. We just don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“So you want me to start thinking she’s going to wake up a different person?” he demanded. “Why can’t we hold onto the hope that she’s going to wake up and be herself? Why do we have to bury her or put her in some assisted living facility when she’s not even awake yet?”
“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” I said with a sigh. There were times when my job was frustrating. My goal as a nurse is to help people, sure, but with that comes the knowledge and the reality that there are some things that simply can’t be fixed.
I can appreciate his point of view and I understand why he wants to cling to hope, but that doesn’t change the fact that the outcome is out of his hands. No amount of love for her is going to bring her back the way she was if there’s been permanent damage.
I watch my sister’s face, wishing there was something more I could do to help her. But I have been in this line of work for long enough to know that all I can do is wait and pray. Our parents instilled in us a deep faith and an appreciation for the power of prayer.
“Excuse me, Camilla?”
A knock on the open door catches my attention, and I look up to see Dr. Foster. He’s an American doctor who has been working at the hospital for a few years, and though I can’t say anything negative about him, I would much prefer my sister’s care was handled by one of our local doctors or me personally.
“Yes?”
“Can you join me for a quick meeting in my office?” he asks.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, checking my pager. “I haven’t gotten any notifications.”
“No, no, nothing is wrong,” he says with a shake of his head. But I’d like to show you something. It’s about your sister.”
My heart skips a beat. I know it could be good news or bad news, and I know better than to stand there and demand answers from him right then. I always hate it when patients do that to me, so I’m going to do as he asks and see what this is about.
We get to his office down the hall and he gestures for me to take a seat. “As you know,” he starts, “I’ve been assigned to your sister’s care.”
“I’m aware,” I say, my tone flatter than I meant for it to be.
Dr. Foster primarily works with patients who have had TBIs – traumatic brain injuries – strokes, aneurysms, and patients who are comatose.
I know I shouldn’t have anything against him, but I have reservations when it comes to any American, especially men.
It comes from the fact I had my heart completely shattered by an American… a soldier in fact, which doesn’t help Mac’s case. I had given that man so much of me, and he had promised me so much in return, making it all the more painful when he cheated on me and ultimately left me for another woman.
“First of all, I wanted to tell you how admirable it is that you’ve been caring for your sister all this time while still doing an exceptional job for all your other patients,” he tells me. “You have been by her side since day one, and I can see that you’re not giving up hope.”
I want to tell him that my hope is waning and that I’m increasingly considering attending some of the very support groups I tried to get Mac to consider. But I hold that thought. I’m more interested in hearing what he has to say.
“Thank you,” I say. “But is that what you brought me into your office?”
“No, no,” he replies, shaking his head. I wanted to show you something.”
He pulls out two charts on his desk, and while I recognize them as brain activity charts, I don’t know how to interpret them. He’ll have to explain the finer points to me.
“There’s been some changes,” he says simply.
“Oh?”
My heart skips a beat, and I almost fly to my feet, once again wanting to demand answers to the plethora of questions that come to my mind.
“Yes,” he says. “As you can see here, and then again over here. These peaks on the graph indicate activity that wasn’t present initially. It’s not a guarantee that things are healing, but this is the sort of activity we typically see in a patient who is conscious.”
“Are you telling me you think she’s going to wake up soon?” I ask simply.
“I’m telling you that there are indicators of more normal brain activity,” he says. “You know as well as I do that neither one of us can say for sure what that’s going to translate into moving forward. As you’re aware, there are those who have activity in the brain and still never wake up, then there are those who aren’t showing the signs, but come out of their comas unexpectedly.”
“Right,” I say.
“But what I am telling you is that this kind of brain activity tends to indicate progress. I’m fairly comfortable saying that I think she’s going to be coming around soon.”
“That’s wonderful!” I gasp, as my hands fly to my gaping mouth.
“I know, and I wanted to give you the good news first,” he says with a smile.
But, his statement gives me pause.
“That makes me think there must be bad news.”
“I’m not sure I would call it bad, but it’s something that you should definitely be aware of,” he tells me. “Along with the brain activity, there were some other interesting results in the tests we conducted.”
There have been routine tests on Allee since she’s been here. Mainly to let us know what things are happening that we can’t see, and let us know if there needs to be changes to her plan of care.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’ll just cut to the chase. Your sister is pregnant.”
“What?”
I gasp the word, and my hand flies to my mouth again.
“According to the fetal measurements, and her hormone levels, the pregnancy is estimated to be around 16 to 17 weeks,” he says. “Which, considering the fact she’s been in a coma for the past three months, I’m not sure she even knew about it herself, because she would have been very early into it.”
“Right, I doubt it,” I say with a shake of my head. “She didn’t say anything to me about it, and she and I are fairly close. If she knew she was pregnant, I think she would have told me.”
The thought lingers in the back of my mind as I think of Mac.
He has been dedicated to coming in and seeing how Allee is doing, and every time he does, he asks about her and only her. He’s never once mentioned a baby, which I know he would have if he was aware of the pregnancy. If Allee did know she was pregnant before the explosion, she clearly did not tell him about it.
“I’m sorry,” I say when I realize that I’ve been standing there without moving for a moment. “I was just trying to process what this means.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says. “Since Allee was in top physical condition, her body is healing well. I’ve consulted with the OB here, and she concurs that because of her excellent condition prior to the accident, she should be able to carry the baby without any danger to her own health or the baby’s. And so far, the baby appears to be growing at an expected, healthy rate.”
“So you and the OB believe that she can safely carry the baby even while in a coma?”
“Yes, we don’t see any reason why not.”
“Okay.”
I sit back down in the chair, trying to think with my mind racing. I know Allee wants to have kids someday, but I doubt they were actively trying to become pregnant since they’d only just gotten engaged. I know that she’s pro-life from discussions we’ve had in the past, and of course, I would never dream of making any decisions on her behalf unless her life were in danger. And since the doctor says the pregnancy isn’t posing a risk to her or the baby, then there’s no need to make any tough decisions.
My thoughts turn to Mac.
I know my sister. She’s not the type who would cheat on her boyfriend. If she’s been with Mac for over a year, then he’s the father. DNA testing is also available, which if Allee isn’t out of her coma by the time the baby is born, I would insist upon.
“Camilla,” Dr. Foster says, bringing my attention back to the moment. “Do you know who the father is?”
“I’m sure it’s reasonable to believe that it’s the man who’s been coming to see her,” I say simply. “He’s her fiancé, and they’ve been together for some time now.”
“Well,” Dr. Foster says after a brief pause. “There’s more.”
“More?”
Geez, what now?
I brace myself.
“There’s a couple of people waiting to speak with you to explain.”
“Okay,” I say, confused and curious to know who’s coming.
I’m even more surprised when two men in military uniforms—Mexican military—walk in. Of course, I don’t know either of them, and only one speaks.
“Hello, Ms. Gonzalez,” the first man says. “My name is Commander Jesus Fernandez, and this is Commander Jose Antonio.”
“Hello,” I say as I look from one to the other. “You must work with my sister.”
“Well, yes… indirectly,” Fernandez says. “First, we’d both like to express to you how sorry we are for what happened to your sister. She is one of our best and it comes as a real blow to her entire unit that she’s in this condition. Our prayers are with her… and you.”
“Thank you,” I reply, though I’m sure the confusion is evident on my face. I’m still not sure why they are here or what they want, and I would really like them to get to the point of their visit.
“Can you please tell me why you’re here?” I ask.
“Yes, of course,” he says. “I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
“Okay.”
“After a lengthy discussion with our FES superiors, as well as the U.S. Commanders associated with the Joint Task Force Alejandra is a part of, it’s been decided to push through the media that your sister has passed away.”
“What why?” the words fly out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “Why would we want to claim that she’s dead?”
“I understand your confusion, so let me try to explain,” he says. “We know that this was a coordinated and targeted Cartel attack,” he says. “And you’re aware there were three other targeted attacks on other FES soldiers.”
“Yes.”
“All three of the others have died – two were killed in the attack and one hung on for a while and then succumbed to his injuries. So Allee is the only survivor of the attacks.”
“Okay...” I say, still not understanding where they’re going with this.
“We feel that it’s the best way to keep her safe if we put it out to the public through the media outlets that she has also passed,” he says. “To make those who tried to kill her think that they succeeded.”
“I see,” I say, though there’s a knot in the pit of my stomach. “You think that they would still come after her?”
“We think it’s a good possibility if they know that she’s alive,” he says. “May I speak frankly with you?”
“Yes, please, because I really don’t like beating around the bush on this subject.”
“Okay, good,” he says with a nod.
“It is our recommendation that you take your sister and move,” he says. “The government is going to fund everything. We’ll set you up with a new home, we’ll handle the move from your current home, and we’ll get you set up with the same position and pay in another hospital.”
“Wait, what?” I say, trying to process all of this without panicking. “You want us to move – where?”
“We have a location already in mind, in one of the safest towns in Mexico with the least amount of Cartel presence, along with new identities and background stories.”
“So, the government is basically putting us in the witness protection program?”
“Yes, that’s what we believe is safest for you and your sister.”
“Allee’s going to want to resume her military service; I know she will,” I say, sounding like I think she’s going to wake up and be perfectly fine. So I guess I need to clarify. “Of course, that’s assuming she’s physically capable.”
“That’s part of why we’re here,” Fernandez says, looking stoic. “We have had our own physicians assess the injuries she’s sustained and review all of her progress notes. As unfortunate as it is, there’s simply no way she’s going to be able to serve in the same capacity as before the attack. The standards of the elite Special Forces are just too high and we don’t see that it’s going to be possible, even in a best-case scenario.”
“You’re discharging her?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach. I’ve been processing a lot over the past several months, but I never thought about what might happen if she were to wake up and be okay mentally but not be able to go back to the career she loves. Allee lives for her work, and the realization that she’s not going to be able to continue her service is going to devastate her.
Camilla, you don’t even know if she’s going to wake up.I tell myself.
“No, she’s not being discharged,” he says quickly.
“Please elaborate,” I say curtly.
“Well with the injuries she sustained to her arms and legs, she’ll not be able to handle the rigorous work that’s required of the FES soldiers in the field. I know it will be a shock to her, but it’s where we are.” He continues, attempting to slant this in a positive direction. “Alejandra will be able to continue her work, just not in a field work capacity as before. There are many operational and logistical positions she could take on to continue being involved in FES missions. She’ll be able to decide the specialization she’s interested in and be extensively trained.”
“Splendid,” I say, sarcastically, kicking myself for how much I sound like Mac. “So, she’ll wake up from a coma to find that she’s lost her career and has an entirely different identity in a different town.”
Admittedly, I’m getting a feel for what he must feel when he hears me telling him the same things they are telling me now.
“We understand this is a lot to take in. If you agree to what we are suggesting—and I strongly urge you to—then I will have the documents delivered to you this afternoon. Those documents will have all the information you need, including the address where you will be moving and the numbers you will need to call to arrange with your movers.”
“And our new identities?”
“Yes, and your IDs to go with them, along with the reports for your backstory. We are very thorough and cover all the bases when it comes to the safety of those who need our protection. We don’t want anything more to happen – or for anyone else to come after Allee and you.”
The thought makes me shudder, but I nod just the same.
“There’s one more thing that needs to be addressed,” he says.
“Oh?” I ask, wondering what else could possibly be thrown on my plate in the midst of all this.
“The boyfriend,” he says. “We feel he should not be privy to all of this.”
“Really?” I ask, “Why not?”
“Nothing against the man,” Fernandez says. “But he’s got a reputation for being a hothead and impulsive. We fear that if he were to know about this move and the change of identities, then he may not agree or he might – unintentionally – divulge your whereabouts or identifications.
“Why would he do that?”
“I’m not saying that he would want to, but he might unintentionally expose you and make you more vulnerable, ” Fernandez says with a shake of his head. “Considering the fact the cartel attempted to assassinate your sister the way they did, we can say with confidence they had been watching her. They picked the wrong car, but they picked a car that was identical to hers.”
“Right,” I say, still wondering what he’s getting at.
“It’s not too hard to imagine they know a lot about her habits, including who she was seeing as well,” he says. “That alone is reason to expect that they’ll be watching him too and that could leave her very vulnerable. It’s highly doubtful he would agree to leave his career and also go into witness protection.”
“I see,” I say, trying to wrap my mind around how much danger my sister truly is in.
“And with how unsecured this particular hospital is, along with the fact that your sister is showing signs of coming out of her coma, we feel that it’s best we get this move underway as soon as possible.”
“Yes, I understand,” I say.
“Ms. Gonzalez,” he says. “I know this is a lot of information to take in, but time is of the essence here. We wouldn’t ask these things of you if we didn’t think it was of vital importance.”
A thought occurs to me and I wonder why it took so long for me to think of it.
“What about her care? What’s going to make her any safer in a different hospital?” I scoff.
“Since we’re telling the media she’s dead, we will be setting her up in a home-based situation, since you’re more than capable of caring for her,” Fernandez says.
I can’t argue with that. If they have the means and can provide us with a fully equipped setup, then there really is no reason I can’t care for her myself at home. Even when she does wake up, I can still handle it.
“Okay,” I say at last. “Alright. If this is really the best course of action, then I guess we need to proceed.”
“I think that’s wise,” he smiles. “Alright then. I’m glad that we were able to come in and speak with you about this. I can’t thank you or your sister enough for the hard work you do to serve your communities and your country. You should be proud.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“We’ll let you get back to work, and we’ll be getting you that paperwork before you’re off work tonight. We would like to get this moving as quickly as possible, so we will be in touch with you throughout the process to ensure things move as smoothly as possible.”
“Thank you,” I say again, unsure of what else to say. Both men reach out and shake my hand, then Dr. Foster’s hand as well. With that, they turned and walked out of the room.
“I’m sorry to hear you’re leaving,” he says. “But I want you to know I believe you are making the best decision for yours and your sister’s safety.”
“I appreciate that,” I tell him.
“You’re going to be sorely missed,” he says sincerely.
With that, I leave Dr. Foster in his office and head back to check in on Allee before finishing my rounds. This hospital has been my second home for years, and I fully believed I was going to live out the rest of my career there.
I look in on her, allowing myself to take a moment to just stand and process all the things that I learned in the past hour. I never imagined I would find myself in this kind of situation, and I hate that I am. I hate that Allee has been removed from the level of service that she lives for, and I hope if and when she does wake up, she’s not going to be devastated by the news.
I’m also going to have to tell her she has a baby on the way, which I’m sure will also come as another shock to her. She’s going to have a lot to deal with when she finally comes back to me, the move being just one more nail in the coffin of our former lives.
At least I’ve taken to saying “when” she comes back to me and “when” she wakes up, and not “if”. I guess Mac’s positivity has rubbed off on me a bit. And with that thought, I feel somewhat guilty about how this is going down.
The nurturing part of me tells me that it’s wrong to leave without telling him what’s going on. I could even argue there’s a level of kidnapping of his child if that’s what I do. But, there’s a greater part of me that can’t shake the fact that I don’t trust the Americans, and if my country’s own military officials are telling me not to include him in any of this, then it’s most likely for the best that I don’t.
Resolution takes hold in my chest, and I make up my mind to go through with all that they suggested down to the letter.
Mac most likely would run away when he heard about the baby anyway. Isn’t that what most men do?
I’m her sister. I’m going to be here for her through everything.
Including becoming entirely new people.